Untraceable

by Laura Griffin

  “Behind you?”

  “He tackled me. I kicked him, threw gravel in his face. I got free and ran out into the road.” She laughed without humor. “Almost got hit by a car, too. That’s what saved my life. This woman stopped to help.”

  Alex looked at Melanie, imagining her in the dark and the rain, running for her life from the man who’d just murdered her boyfriend.

  “You’re lucky,” Alex told her.

  She snorted.

  “I’m serious. You could easily be dead right now.”

  “I know.” Melanie sighed tiredly and looked away.

  “My grandma always said I was like a cat with nine lives. I figure marrying Craig used up about eight.”

  Nathan stared into the fire and thought of Alex. Where was she? She’d sounded strange on the phone earlier. He’d called twice since then, but she hadn’t picked up, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad had happened. Something was wrong.

  He poked the pile of coals with his barbecue tongs. Then he lifted the metal grate from the deck and dropped it back in place over the fire.

  Then again, maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe Stockton was in town again, and he’d called her, just like he’d said he would. Maybe they were out tonight in his Ferrari. Or back at her place, and she was too busy to pick up the phone.

  Nathan’s temper smoldered as he watched the flames. He cast an annoyed glance over his fence, debating whether to go next door and raise some hell about the noise. He hated country music. And he didn’t much appreciate the endless loop of Rascal Flatts on a Thursday night.

  He pulled the phone from the pocket of his jeans and checked the screen again. Nothing. He tipped back his beer. Empty. He dropped the bottle into the carton sitting on the deck beside the bag of coals. Three down, three to go. He picked up a cool one and twisted off the top, just as the gate creaked open. He turned around.

  “Hi.”

  His heart gave a kick.

  “I rang the bell, but no one answered, so…” Alex’s voice faded as she walked toward him across the dark patch of grass. “What’s cooking?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  She sounded chipper, which was unusual. She had on jeans and a T-shirt. He couldn’t see the details in the dimness, but the outfit didn’t look to him like something she’d wear on a date.

  She climbed the three wooden stairs to his deck. “Sorry to just show up, but it sounded important.”

  “Important?”

  “Your messages.” She glanced around at his yard, and he was glad it was too dark for her to see how overgrown it was. She sank into a patio chair and leaned back, sighing. “God, I’m so beat.”

  “Long day?”

  “Very long.” She stretched out her legs and tipped her head back to gaze up at the sky. “Pretty night.”

  He walked over to stand in front of her, and she snagged the beer from his hand. She took a sip and grimaced at the taste. “You have anything besides beer?”

  “I’ve got some wine inside, if you want.”

  “Sounds great.”

  She heaved herself from the chair, and he led her to the back door. He pushed it open and ushered her in. The utility room was crammed with about three weeks’ worth of laundry, and he shoved a heaping basket aside with his foot.

  “Sorry,” he said, slipping around her.

  “No problem. You should see my place.”

  “You like red?” The wine was on the counter beside the fridge, and he pulled open a drawer and rummaged for the corkscrew.

  “Red’s great.”

  He glanced over at her and froze. “Holy shit, Alex.” He rushed over. “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing. I—”

  “Nothing?” He lifted her chin and examined the bruise on her cheek. The skin there was purple and swollen.

  “I bumped into a wall.”

  He stared down at her, and she glanced away.

  I bumped into a wall.

  He dropped his hand. He leaned back against the counter and watched her. “A wall,” he stated calmly, but white-hot anger was pulsing through his veins.

  “It’s no big deal,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

  “Did Stockton do that?” Nathan would kill the guy. He’d fucking take his head off.

  “What?”

  “Troy Stockton. Did he do that to your face?”

  “No.”

  “Who did, then?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced around, obviously uncomfortable now in the harsh light of his kitchen.

  And then he got it.

  This was about her job. She’d gotten hurt working on some case. Probably Melanie’s.

  “I shouldn’t have come over.” She shook her head and looked away, looked at everything except him. “I knew you’d freak out.”

  “Tell me what happened.” He gripped the edge of the counter and did what he considered an amazing job of not freaking out while he stared at that swollen purple welt.

  She sighed. “Look, Nathan, I’ve had a long day. Let me clean up first, okay? Then I’ll tell you everything.”

  And when she finally made eye contact, he knew she was lying to him. She would not tell him everything. She would keep her guard up, like she always did.

  But he nodded toward the hallway and played along. “Be my guest,” he said.

  He watched her disappear and heard the water go on in the bathroom sink.

  He loosened his grip on the counter. He unclenched his teeth. He took a deep breath and tried to rein in his emotions.

  Anger. Frustration. Protectiveness. He wasn’t sure which he felt the strongest, but he needed to get a lid on all three before he said or did something he’d regret later.

  Such as tell her to drop Melanie’s case. Or, even better, tell her to quit her job. She didn’t take orders well, particularly not from him.

  He retrieved the corkscrew and slammed the drawer shut. With sharp, jerky movements, he uncorked the wine he’d bought earlier this week, thinking it might help him sweet talk Alex into bed. Instead, he’d nearly ended up in bed with Nicole.

  He poured a glass and left it waiting on the counter, then made an ice pack and took it to the guest bathroom. A strip of light spilled out into the hallway. Through the narrow opening in the doorway, he saw her standing in front of the sink in a black sports bra and jeans. Her startled gaze met his in the mirror.

  “Hi,” she said, and dipped her T-shirt under the faucet.

  He eased the door open and placed the ice pack on the counter. “Want some Neosporin for that?” He nodded at the raw, red abrasion on her shoulder. Carpet burn? Pavement? Just conjuring up the possibilities made his stomach turn.

  “Guess you’ve been shopping since my last visit.” She glanced at him in the mirror and smiled slightly. “If I keep showing up like this, you’re going to have to get some real drugs.”

  He leaned against the counter now, facing her, and watched her dab at her shoulder with her damp T-shirt. She had a bruise there, too—a nice big one.

  “You need to ice it.” He picked up the ice pack and braced a hand behind her shoulder before gently pressing the pack against the swollen joint. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes.

  “You want me to take you in, get it checked out?”

  “No.” She looked up and gave him another weak smile. “It’s just cold.”

  He held her gaze, and something sparked between them. And he was acutely aware of the water running, and her crumpled T-shirt on the edge of the sink, and the swell of her breast just inches from his hand. He couldn’t believe he’d let his mind go there right now, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He’d been attracted to her from the instant he’d met her, and she was standing so close he could feel her breath on his neck. His gaze slid down to the black spandex that was rising and falling now, more rapidly than it had been minute ago.

  “Why did you say that?” she asked, slipping her hand unde
r his and taking over the ice pack. “About Troy?”

  “I don’t know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought maybe you were involved with him.”

  “I’m involved with him, so that means he beats me up?”

  “Are you involved with him?”

  “Not like you mean.”

  But Nathan remembered the unmistakable vibe he’d picked up at Eli’s. “But you were involved.”

  “Were,” she said. “Past tense. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because he’d never hurt me.”

  “He has a record of assault.”

  Surprise flashed into her eyes. She lowered the ice pack and gazed up at him, and he couldn’t tell whether she was surprised that Stockton had a rap sheet, or that he’d taken the trouble to find out about it.

  That’s right, honey, I’m jealous. And I want you in the worst way. As if she didn’t know that already. As if she hadn’t figured it out when he’d pinned her against her car the other night and begged her to come home with him.

  She trained her gaze on the mirror now and rearranged the ice on her shoulder. “Troy’s been in a few bar fights. That doesn’t mean he beats women.”

  She was stalling.

  “What happened today, Alex?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said, and before he could protest, she cut him off with a look. “And I’ll tell you, okay? But I don’t want to analyze the entire thing right now. I’m not up for it.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “All right.”

  “Basically, I set up a surveillance op with Sophie. To find out who’s been following me.”

  Nathan struggled to keep his mouth shut as he waited for the rest of it. She rearranged the ice pack again, and he could tell she was using the time to edit the hell out of her story.

  “We lured this guy to the mall,” she said. “Sophie approached him in the parking lot and got his tag, and I ran a trace on it.”

  “And?”

  “And it all went down as planned until he found me inside the mall and grabbed me. He pulled me into a hallway, and we had kind of a tussle.” She flicked a glance at him. “It sounds worse than it was, okay? Just calm down.”

  “You left out the wall part.”

  “I bit him, and he pushed me into a wall. Then I got away. End of story.”

  Yeah, right. Nathan gritted his teeth. “Who the hell was this guy?”

  “No idea. His tag came up ‘unavailable.’ Maybe you’ll have more luck running it down.”

  “Did you even call security?”

  “Yes. They wrote up a report. Now I’m done talking about it. Moving on. What did you call me about?”

  He simmered for a moment, not at all ready to move on. But he let it go. For now.

  “I was calling about Melanie,” he said. “I heard a rumor at work today, and I thought you’d want to hear it.”

  Her spine stiffened, but she kept her attention focused on the mirror. “What was the rumor?”

  “A buddy of mine with the sheriff’s office told me they had a crew out the other day, dragging the lake, right where we found our John Doe. They’re searching for a second victim, same spot.”

  Nathan watched—shocked—as Alex’s eyes filled with tears. But she blinked them back and pretended to be focused on the ice pack in her hand.

  He wasn’t sure why her reaction surprised him. Yes, Alex was tough, but Melanie wasn’t just a client. Alex really cared about her, evidently.

  She cleared her throat. “Who’s ‘they’?”

  “A couple sheriff’s deputies, a canine unit, a few feds.”

  “But it’s not the sheriff’s jurisdiction, right?”

  “Shouldn’t be,” he said, and she obviously caught the implications. APD had been cut out of the investigation. Again.

  “And what did they find?”

  “Nothing,” he said, but he knew that didn’t make the news any easier. “So… I’m starting to think you were right about Melanie. Sounds like you’re not the only one who thinks she’s dead. And if the feds are involved, and if APD’s been cut out, then there’s something big going on here. Something far-reaching.”

  She nodded stoically. “I knew that.”

  “I know, I just… I’m sorry to have to tell you.”

  She glanced down and shook her head, as if she didn’t trust herself to talk. Or even to look at him.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But she’d picked her shirt up now, and she was holding it to her chest in a way that told him she wanted space.

  “Thanks for telling me,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I really want to clean up.”

  “Sure,” he said, and then slipped through the door and eased it shut behind him.

  He walked back to the kitchen feeling like an insensitive jerk. She’d acted so convinced of Melanie’s murder, he hadn’t realized she was still holding on to some kind of hope. And he’d just crushed it to pieces.

  On the countertop was the big T-bone he’d thawed for dinner. He’d split it with her. He went outside and spent a few minutes reviving the fire. Afterward, he leaned his forearms on the wooden railing of his deck and stared out at the backyard, cursing his neighbors’ taste in music as he tried to come up with ways to persuade Alex to drop the case.

  You’re completely out of your league here—which didn’t seem to matter to her. This goes way beyond your client, and you need to let someone else handle it—which would be equally unconvincing. And yet another approach: If you don’t drop this case soon, you’ll get hurt for real, and we’ll be fishing you out of Lake Austin, and I think that would kill me.

  The back door opened, and he turned around.

  Alex stood there, silhouetted against the light of his utility room. In a T-shirt. With a glass of wine in her hand.

  She pulled the door shut behind her and walked toward him, and his heart turned over in his chest as he realized her hair was wet. And the plain white shirt she had on had come from a drawer in his bedroom. She reached beside him and set her glass on the railing, and he caught the scent of his shampoo in her hair.

  His heart turned over again.

  “Hi,” she whispered, and smiled up at him.

  “Hi.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  This was the hard part. She’d made a play for what she wanted. And now she held her breath, waiting for his reaction, figuring it could go either way.

  He wanted her. Or at least he had at the bar. But he was in a dark mood tonight, and she was fairly certain that while she’d been steaming away her aches and pains in his shower, he’d been gearing up for a lecture on the dangers of her job.

  Which was not something she wanted to listen to at the moment.

  She eased closer, brushing her thighs against his and settling her hands at his waist. Little shivers of anticipation danced over her skin.

  “What are you thinking?” she whispered.

  “You’re wearing my shirt.”

  She pressed her weight into him, and his hands curved around her butt. She felt the exact moment when he realized she had on nothing at all beneath the thin, soft cotton.

  “What are you thinking now?” she whispered, and his grip tightened.

  He dipped his head down and kissed her. It was hungry, demanding. Possessive, even, in a way she hadn’t expected. And she was hungry, too. She’d been lusting after this man for months, and every nerve in her body was alive with the prospect of spending the next few hours naked with him. She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t wait another minute to discover what it was like to be with Nathan Devereaux.

  Especially when he kissed her like this, like he was impatient and needy and every bit as eager as she was. His hands slipped under the shirt and pulled her close, and one of his thick, strong thighs eased between hers. The denim against her skin was like an electric shock, and she gave a little moan.

  And then his hands found her waist, and the cool night air touched her skin as his thumbs stroked over her rib cage. S
he nestled closer, and he made a low sound of approval as his mouth moved along her jaw to the space beneath her ear.

  A whoop of laughter made her jerk back and whip her head around to find the source of the noise. His neighbors. She heard a loud splash, followed by another.

  She looked up at Nathan in the dark. “Pool party?”

  He muttered a curse, and she slid her hands up into his hair and brought his head down for another kiss. She loved his hair, his mouth. She loved the way he kissed. She loved his hands on her skin, his big, warm palms pulling her against him.

  Another splash next door.

  “We need to get you inside,” he said into her ear.

  But she liked it out here, and she had the urge to just slip the shirt over her head and see what he’d do.

  His hands slid out from under the shirt and moved up to clasp her wrists. “Come on.”

  And then he pulled her behind him across the deck. She glanced at the Weber and noticed the glowing mound of briquettes.

  “What about the coals?” she asked him.

  “Fuck the coals.”

  He tugged her over the threshold, into the laundry room, and kicked the door shut. He led her through the kitchen, then the darkened living room toward the hallway that led to the bedroom.

  That he’d shared with someone else, years ago.

  She didn’t mind, really. But this first time… She wanted it to be just theirs. It was silly and sentimental, but she couldn’t help it. She pulled him to a stop just beside the fireplace.

  “What?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “Here.”

  He glanced around. “On the floor?”

  And she smiled at his tone—surprised, but not unwilling.

  “The chair,” she said, and steered him into a big leather armchair that creaked under his weight when he sank down. The chair was wide and masculine, and she could picture him sitting in it, drinking beer and watching baseball. It turned her on much, much more than some bed he’d shared with another woman.